Before and After
by JYLG
Summary: When Goku remembers only his past upon waking in the present.
1. Part One

SAIYUKI 

_Gensoumaden Saiyuki and Saiyuki Gaiden belong to Minekura Kazuya._

BEFORE AND AFTER

PART ONE

                _You know only the cave_.

The illusion of comfort within the warmth and security of the inn is rudely dispelled when the doors slam open, the reality of the thundering heavens outside invading the room in cold bites of air and water. 

                _Hard, unforgiving stone.__ Heavy, unrelenting chains._

Stragglers waiting the storm out over a pint of beer or two are startled into looking up. A man crosses the threshold in quick, jerky steps, his hair long, loose and wet past his shoulders.

                _Why are you here?_

An unusual colouring. Red is not a common shade.

_Sealed away, by people forgotten, for a transgression unrecalled.___

The innkeeper unbends behind the counter, wary of the newcomer's apparently foul mood, yet half-sighing in resignation. The man has paused by the doors, the water streaming off him to pool at his feet. Every potential customer is welcome – the storm in fact is a blessing to business – yet the innkeeper cannot help but think that he should have left scrubbing the floor for the morning. 

                _The punishment to fit the crime_.

But the inconvenience of the task is forgotten, as the red-haired man holds the doors open for another figure to stumble in, and the innkeeper abruptly jerks to attention. 

                _A breeding ground for bitterness, to nurse grievances._

There is nothing extraordinary about the second newcomer, expression partly obscured by the dark hair plastered to his face and the light glinting off the monocle he wears.

                _But you don't remember_.

The limp figure cradled in the man's arms however, is a different matter.

                _Because you don't remember, you don't begrudge_.

"We need help, now!" The red-haired man's voice is harsh with worry and some anger. The innkeeper is already moving to the kitchen, instructing a hireling to run out for the local doctor.

                _The stone's not cold anymore. The chains don't chafe anymore_.

He returns to the front of the inn. The dark-haired man comes forward with his burden – just a boy, the innkeeper realises. He lies an unconscious weight in the man's arms, his own hand falling listlessly from where it rests on his abdomen, and the innkeeper finally sees the red for what it is.

                _They are who you are, in this place_.

 "A bed, please." The man is bizarrely polite in the face of the obvious urgency. 

                _The only place you know_.

"Dammit, let me help you!" Instinctively, the innkeeper raises his head. A third person leans against the doorframe of the inn, the lash of wind and rain playing havoc with the robes of a man the innkeeper recognises as a monk. 

                _Nothing before, no thought to the after_.

The monk slaps forcefully at the hands offered to him, and the red-haired man grimaces in angry frustration, voicing a few choice oaths which cause the innkeeper to wince. But the monk says nothing, his own expression hidden beneath his curious, yellow hair.

                _Isolated in your ignorance.__ Accepting in your innocence._

After instructing another hireling to bring up water, clean cloths and whatever dry garments that can be spared, the innkeeper leads the way to the rooms above. He throws open a door, stepping aside as the man with the eyeglass strides to one bed and gently eases the boy down.

                _You simply exist._

Outside the monk braces himself against the wall, one hand to his ribs as he breathes with difficulty. The red-haired man has given up, muttering audibly about pig-headed, bad-tempered monks. The innkeeper moves to the next door. Here, he gestures, both of you can take this room. 

                _Cruel to seal you away here, alone.___

But the monk shakes his head as he looks up at the innkeeper, who starts in spite of himself. Red may be rare, but violet is rarer still. "No. One more room."

                _Crueler still to mock you with the sky outside your bars, just out of reach_.

The innkeeper looks to the red-haired man, who merely shrugs at his questioning glance. The monk sees and understands. "One more." His expression remains unchanged, but his tone harbours a warning. 

                _The sun just out of reach_.   

Who is the innkeeper to argue? Wordlessly he crosses the hall to another door, and the monk nods before turning back to the first room.

                _But it's okay_.

The boy has begun to fidget as a fever comes upon him. He has been stripped of his sodden clothes, and the innkeeper grimaces at the blood oozing from the ugly gash in his stomach. "I can't – he's still bleeding, but not as bad." The man takes off his eyeglass and wipes at the signs of strain on his face, yet he still has a smile for the lad who brings him the water basin and the towels. "Thank you." 

                _Isolated in your ignorance.__ Accepting in your innocence._

The boy grows increasingly distressed, his features scrunched in discomfort. His breathing is laboured but fitful, his skin clammy from the rain and the fever. He twists on the sheets in his uneasy doze, the beginnings of an uneasy whimpering tugging at the innkeeper's sympathy.

                _Because you don't know, you don't begrudge_.

"When can we get someone to see him?" The innkeeper recognises the dismissal in the monk's cool tone, and bows before retreating with the hireling, promising to send the doctor up the instant she arrives.

_So it's okay_.

It is well that the innkeeper leaves when he does. Eyes suddenly snap open, too big in the tired, hurting face, darting around before closing again.

                _Isn't it?_

Violet and red do not compare to gold.

                _The sun.___

Gold. 

                _The sun just out of reach_.

***

Hakkai blinked against the mingled salt and water running into his eyes, slightly disconcerted. Goku's thrashing had abruptly subsided, his breathing still too deep and too fast, but his features had relaxed into some semblance of peace. For one fleeting, horrible instant he wondered what that could mean, before he firmly brushed the thought aside. It was still too early to say. Goku's stomach wound was too much for him to handle in his own drained condition – unhappily it had not closed completely, so infection was a real risk. 

Bad enough to be caught short in the fight earlier. The rain had not helped the fever. Hakkai picked up one of the towels, only to have it tugged from his grasp.

"No you don't." At some point Gojyo had used the bathroom to trade his wet clothes for the extra clothes that the hireling had brought up. "Go get changed. Use the next room and get some sleep. I'll watch him." 

Grateful for the respite, Hakkai stood. Turning around he paused, suddenly remembering when he saw Sanzo, standing by the doorway. "Sanzo, you..."     

"Idiot, you can't do anything else now."  The monk pushed himself away from the doorframe with a grunt and limped carefully to the table where the boy had left the clothing. Hakkai knew better than to offer assistance. "We get some rest, and wait for the doctor." Sanzo jerked his head in Gojyo's direction. "Looks like he got off lucky today – his youkai mustn't have been paying attention. He and the saru can keep each other company tonight."  

Unseen, Gojyo smirked at the dry, impassive tone; really, it wouldn't kill Sanzo to be nice once in a while.  He was worried about Goku – they all were. And the half-demon's lips twisted grimly – _a  clash of weapons and limbs, punctuated by gun retort; hoarse oaths and guttural shouts of hate and pain – a cacophony of conflict, curiously thick and muted in the drone of rain._

_– a  keening cry –  high, drawn-out anguish, painfully thin, painfully young._

_The blood-letting begins._

The dark red fluid blossomed into a dirty bronze in the water as Gojyo dipped the cloth into the wooden bowl. Looking up, he frowned when he pressed a hand to Goku's forehead. The fever and the damp of the rain that still clung to the boy were by turns causing him to sweat and shiver, but his face was strangely serene. The kind of calm that says, "Yeah, this is it, no regrets." 

Shit. Was he getting worse?

"Dammit you little idiot, wake up." And as if in response to his muttering, Goku stirred. Though reassured by the movement, Gojyo grimaced at having disturbed him, and he rested a soothing hand on Goku's head.

But eyes blinked open, gold turned molten with fatigue and pain. "Oy, Goku." Blank and unfocused at first, some sign of consciousness pooled in the yellow depths at Gojyo's words, and they looked up, seeking his voice. The half-demon grinned, partly in relief. "Dumb ape... feeling any better now?"

Those too-big eyes blinked, finding his face, and something in them sparked a frown in Gojyo's expression.

"Goku?" Blink.

"Oy!" 

Blink... blink. "Huh?" It was a small, confused sound. Goku squinted up at him, brow furrowed. "Oji-san… who are you?"

*Uncle*

"Man, why do I even bother? Spoiling for a fight, are you? *Uncle*..." Gojyo trailed off, perplexed at Goku's blank stare. "Hey kid, you okay?"

A hand on his shoulder, and the half-demon looked up into Hakkai's inquiring expression. "What's wrong?"

Goku turned his head, eyes lifting to see the new face. His features scrunched in concentration for one brief moment before they relaxed into a delighted, albeit tired, grin. "Aa, Ten-chan."

Gojyo could only shake his head helplessly when Hakkai glanced at him again. "Delirious, most likely." Pressing the cool cloth to Goku's forehead, the half-demon scowled when one hand came up to touch wonderingly at it. "Oy, lie still, idiot." 

It was worrying enough that Goku did not rally to the jibe with his ill-worn retort – "Don't call me an idiot!" – but something tightened in Gojyo's stomach when the boy merely stared blankly at him.

"I don't feel too good." 

Gojyo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, being gutted will do that to you." 

Again, only confusion in those golden depths as Goku's gaze shifted between the two men, his incomprehension too real to be a joke. "Eh? What happened?" 

He didn't like the grim, silent looks they exchanged. "Ne, Ten-chan." Goku made to lift himself, only to fall back with a yelp.

"Idiot! I told you not to move!" But he wasn't listening, his eyes widening at the ragged cut in his stomach as he touched it lightly in dumb fascination.

 "Ten-chan!" Hakkai obligingly drew nearer, pulled close by frantic fingers that had reached out to tangle in his sleeve. "Ten-chan, what happened??"

Hakkai's heart went out to the face turned beseechingly up at him, small and young in its lost bewilderment. Bending, he brushed reassuringly at Goku's messy fringe. "Goku, why do you call me Ten-chan?"

The boy studied the face hovering above his own in some puzzlement. "What're you talking about, Ten-chan?"

"We were in a fight earlier, and you were badly injured. We're at an inn now – someone's coming to take a look at your wound."

"Fight? I... don't remember." 

"...What do you remember then?"

***

My stomach hurts. My head hurts. My *everything* hurts. 

What happened? What fight? I don't remember – I can't remember anything. And my stomach – I don't remember getting that, and Ten-chan says it's bad.

Ten-chan. But he cut his hair. And what happened to his specs? Why's he wearing that funny one-piece glass thing?

And where is Ken-niichan? He's not here, only that other oji- ah, suman – that other onii-san by the bed. Don't know him, but he has such long, red hair – like fire. If I touch it, will the flames be hot? Will it burn me?

Hair the colour of fire. Hair the colour of...

                _...the sun_.

***

They did not expect him to jerk upright, with a hiss at the sudden movement.

"Oy, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" Gojyo exclaimed. Stupid ape! The boy shook his head and skitted to the far side of the bed, against the wall. He batted at their hands, fending off both his and Hakkai's attempts to lie him down again. "Konzen! Where's Konzen?!" 

"Slowly, Goku, slowly." He was pushing at their arms half-heartedly, the strain and near tears on his face telling Hakkai just how much it was costing him to move. Hakkai shook his head at Gojyo, a warning to back off. 

They moved back a little, giving the boy some space. Goku had been craning his head this way and that, and when they dropped their arms he could better see around the room. He grinned suddenly. "Konzen!"

"Eh?" The two men turned.

They'd forgotten Sanzo, unmoving by the table, face impassive as he met their stares. Gojyo snorted inwardly. Trust the asshole to keep quiet and leave the saru to them.

"Har, Konzen, did you cut your hair too?" Unmoved by the monk's lack of expression, Goku gurgled with laughter, only to fold over his abdomen, hacking at the effort.

"Idiot. Idiot idiot idiot." Goku pulled a face as he settled back with a relieved, tired sigh. Squirming around to get as comfortable as his bruises would allow, he again touched his stomach wound. "It must have been some fight, ne Ten-chan?"

"...A – aa." It shouldn't have been funny, but Hakkai's lips twitched; this, at least, was very much Goku. 

"He should be fine now – I'll stay and wait for the doctor." Gojyo again picked up the cloth, dropped to the floor earlier. "And maybe you should see whether he broke anything," he added in lower tones, jerking his head backwards – Sanzo had already begun to move towards the door.

"O – oy, Konzen, wait! Where're you going?" Gojyo cursed inwardly when Goku again struggled to sit up, and he pushed gently at the boy's chest. "*Down*, baka!" he said sharply. The kid had the gall to stick his tongue out at him before finally acquiescing. "Konzen!"

***

I need a cigarette. 

Reflexively Sanzo drew in a deep breath, only to stifle an oath at the cramping in his ribs. As far as he could tell though, none of them were broken.

It could have been a lot worse, but Goku – 

His features tightened slightly. They made mistakes each time, and each time they paid a price. They'd almost lost him tonight.

Again.

"O-oy, Konzen, wait! Where're you going?" Sanzo wanted to snarl. Shut up! Who the fuck is Konzen? What the hell is wrong with you? 

Why can't you remember?

"*Down*, baka!"

He had to get out of his damp clothes – the last thing he needed right now was to come down with a cold.

"Konzen!"

Shut. Up. Don't be so fucking noisy.

"Konzen, will you stay?"

He was already scowling when he turned around. "I'm changing in the next room," he snapped, and had to refrain from grinding his teeth when Goku's face fell even as Gojyo smirked, and Hakkai turned away with a faint smile of his own.

Shit. Was he that predictable?

"And I'm coming back." He swung around again, not particularly pleased with Goku's ear-splitting grin, and grimaced at the protest in his chest.

Outside, the rain continued to fall.

Fuck. I need a smoke.

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Part Two

SAIYUKI 

_Gensoumaden Saiyuki and Saiyuki Gaiden belong to Minekura Kazuya._

BEFORE AND AFTER

PART TWO

._........._

_...me_

What?

_...find me_

Where are you?

_...here._

_find me._

Where are you?!

_...Sanzo._

***

It was a violent awakening.

Violet eyes snapped open on a shuddering breath, and one hand immediately went to his abdomen. Sanzo cursed inwardly and forced himself to slow down, until his breathing had eased into a gentler rhythm and the dull soreness in his ribs stopped throbbing. 

It was the worst kind of way to wake up: the sour tang of aftersleep was on his tongue, his throat was dry, and his eyes were still bleary with exhaustion. He closed them for a bit before moving to lift himself. Carefully he straightened, his back stiff from having being bent over for so long. He had retreated to the window earlier, the sill broad enough to sit on comfortably as he waited out the doctor's visit. He turned back towards the relentless splattering against the glass, staring past the water out into the night.

It was still raining.

Goku's wound was an ugly cut that apparently ran fairly deep, but Hakkai had breathed quietly in relief when the doctor had declared it a miracle that internal bleeding was minimal.

It had been brisk work after that. The immediate danger past, the doctor had fussed over Goku's minor injuries before – no thanks to some useless, meddling cockroach – turning to Sanzo and his sore ribs. Unfazed by his glares and cold insistence that he was fine, she'd bullied him into at least a cursory check-up and admonished him to ease off the cigarettes before finally leaving.

Women.

Gojyo had hustled Hakkai and his half-hearted protests out the door after that, with stern instructions to get a good rest. Sanzo himself, for the second time that night, had been more than ready to retire and sleep off a bad case of smoke withdrawal. 

_Konzen._

Fuck.

_Where're you going?_

He'd ignored the question, already headed towards the door without a backward glance and only half-listening to Gojyo's explanation about lack of sleep and short-tempered monks.

_But Konzen always stayed._

Only Gojyo had looked surprised when Sanzo turned around and abruptly ordered him out to get some sleep in the other room. Touching his head in a mocking salute, Gojyo bade Goku good night before getting to his feet and sauntering out the door. And only Sanzo had heard the smirk in the half-demon's tone as he'd brushed past.

"Good luck."

A nice, round bullet hole, through the heart.

So here he was, on the windowsill, and that fucking half-demon snug in *his* bed. 

Or maybe not. Had to be a given the cockroach was doubling up with Hakkai. Which meant one empty room that was nothing but more expenditure on his card. Because he hadn't counted on this, had badly needed the solitude, no thanks to the rain and his lack of smoke.

Stupid ape.

Goku's fever had broken shortly after the doctor had left, and he'd quickly drifted off after that. But Sanzo hadn't been able to leave. He had been restless, and irritable at having to contend with useless pacing around the room before returning to the window to study the storm.

Rain did not trouble Goku the way it did him. But this time, it was not the nightmares that had jerked Sanzo out of sleep.

He tilted his head, forehead to glass, the gloom outside unseen in the vivid memory of a boy he'd first encountered all those years ago.

Goku had truly been young then, in that cave. Five hundred years, enough time for a soul to live five times over, for time's wheel to turn five cycles, but they had not touched him. 

                _Isolated in your ignorance. Accepting in your innocence._

He couldn't hate those who had imprisoned him if he had forgotten them. He couldn't mourn a freedom lost if he didn't remember the sensation of being free.

                _Because you don't remember, you don't begrudge._

And perhaps that was it. 

Sanzo again turned to the bed. What did he – did any of them – really know about Goku? Sealed away for some unknown sin, his memories taken from him and his youkai powers repressed. Sanzo recalled what Hakkai had told him, after their run-in with Shuuei. Hung out with the rest of the big shots Up There no less, if Bosatsu was to be believed.

But the boy remembered nothing. Whatever it was, it had happened during the youkai fight – Sanzo's eyes hardened; of that he was sure – and quite possibly had triggered off some recollection of the past. True, Goku could simply be delirious. 

And yet.

It had to be a truly heinous crime, to warrant such condemnation. To exist indefinitely, confined to iron shackles and stone bars; isolated from the world outside, a world that would continue to move forward and leave him behind.

Five hundred years. How much longer, if Sanzo had not heard him call?

For even then, when he couldn't hate and couldn't begrudge because he couldn't remember, Goku had understood what it meant to be alone.

                ..._find me._

It had been disgustingly persistent, that voice, had dogged his thoughts and screwed with his dreams, refusing to let up until Sanzo had finally conceded, until he had followed the compulsion that had drawn him to the cave and its captive.

He had wanted peace, but in taking Goku in – he had simply traded in one annoyance for a louder, more troublesome nuisance; worse, for one that whined incessantly and had to perpetually be fed.

_Sanzo._

Now, after so long, now that he had been found... what had happened in the fight, for Goku to forget? 

Sanzo stood and stretched carefully, mindful of the discomfort. Passing by the bed, he paused for a brief instant before heading for the door. The boy was resting easily enough. The questions could wait until sunrise. Right now he badly needed a beer and a smoke, to hell with the doctor's instructions.

Outside it was still raining. He wouldn't be getting anymore sleep that night.

***

                _It's cold._

"Itai na!!" You are mad. Good. It's good to yell and grumble and complain. 

Then you can ignore the knot of apprehension in your stomach, the fear that refuses to go away.

                _Cold floor._

You try to hold back, but the marble is smooth beneath your feet, and denies you purchase. The tiles stretch away in glossed, geometric precision, square after square after square.

It's a long corridor.

                _Cold iron._

The man holding the chain jerks sharply, and you stumble, half-choking in protest – the metal ring around your neck is rubbing the flesh raw. It would not hurt as much if you simply follow where they lead, but why should you?

You did not want to be here in the first place.

                _Cold words._

"Be quiet! When you are before Bosatsu-sama you must be still and not speak!" One of the men takes you by the shoulder and shakes you sternly. You shrug him off fiercely, refusing to listen. Their repeated reprimands to be silent have sparked a rebellious streak that compels you to be as loud as possible.

They do not listen to your pleas to be left alone – why should you heed anything they say?

It only grows worse as you and the men near a pair of wide, imposing double doors, flanked by two soldiers heavily armoured and passive-faced. The men grow more insistent, slapping at your arms, hissing threats in your face.

You are angry. You are not afraid.

                _Cold._

You are not afraid.

"Enter." You only vaguely hear the guard's voice, so intent are you on swinging at your captors, warning them not to touch you. The doors creak open with magnificent groans and awe-inspiring languor, but the calculated aesthetics are lost on you, dismissed in a desperate promise whispered in your ear.

"A feast is waiting for you in there, but only if you go in quietly and behave yourself."

Food. The chain switches hands and the first man enters; you shift impatiently, until the second man finally moves, and you step over the threshold eagerly enough after him. Your eyes take in the chamber in one broad, cursory sweep, details flitting across your mind: a long, spacious room, tiled floor and white pillars; a dais at the other end, three persons, one sitting down.

That's it. Other than that the room is quite empty. No feast. No food. 

You scowl as you are pulled forward. The man who entered first has moved closer to the platform, and is kneeling deferentially before it. He is speaking to the person who is seated, but you are not paying attention. Another tug on the chain, and you flare up. "Let me go! It hurts! Stop pulling, alright?" 

"I told you to be quiet!" The second man unclasps the chain from the links in the shackle around your neck. Firm hands urge you to drop to your knees as the first man has, but you settle cross-legged on the floor instead. 

"Didn't you promise me something to eat? You liar!" You are disgruntled, listening only vaguely to your captor – he is talking about the colour of your eyes. You don't understand the fuss – it is the reason they took you away from your mountain in the first place. _Itan_. Change. Misfortune. 

You are not a troublemaker.

Gloomily you lift your head, pondering the injustice of being cheated out of food, when...

On the dais, the man in white, on the left...

You are already up and moving, too quick for anyone who would have stopped you. They are still talking, the first man and the person in the chair, but you're not listening. And because you're not listening, you are unaware of the startled hush that falls, when you go so far as to step onto the raised platform. He is tall, and up close you have to tilt your head all the way back.

"What?"

His half-growled question does not intimidate you, nor does his bored, brooding expression. You notice only vaguely the grim set of his features, and the violet of his eyes. It is not his face that you are staring at.

                _It's cold._

"Kirei..." You lift one hand, wonderingly, almost reverently...

                _But it's okay._

"...it's shining..." ...to touch, to hold...__

"Like the sun."

_                The sun is shining._

..........

*yank*

..........

"...warii."

***

He had been chasing the light in his dreams for so long he didn't know where it ended and where reality began.

Dust motes drifted lazily above him, gleaming in the brightness that washed over the ceiling and the bed. He lay still, squinting in confusion. The light...?

He shifted then, and winced. It hurt too much to be a dream. But where was he? He didn't recognise the ceiling, or the walls, or the bed. No, this wasn't Konzen's room...

_bad grief, bad hurt, something lost, something precious, beloved..._

What urgency was this? He wanted to shy away, he wanted to lash out, he wanted to howl.

He wanted, he wanted...

He jerked suddenly, and hissed at the pain it sparked in his stomach. Still he struggled to rise, the hurt lost under his agitation and determination. Need to get up, quick! Get up, and find, find...

Hands slipped beneath his arms, supporting his back as they propped him up. He leaned back gratefully against the wall, and for a short moment closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.

When he opened them again, he started a little at the face so close to his own. Red hair hung past the shoulders, a blue bandana keeping the long fringe out of red eyes. They held his gaze briefly, assessing him, before the man leaned away to slouch in a chair by the bed. "How ya feelin'?"

"Aa, okay." The onii-san from before, with hair like fire. He half-frowned; hadn't that been part of the dream? The images chased each other in his head, crashing and merging and breaking away and coming together again.

The onii-san was real. What else? Who else? He'd seen Ten-chan too... hadn't he? Half-consciously he raised one hand to rub at his head, willing his scrambled brains to fall into order. 

Huh? His fingers stilled in his hair, before running back, all the way to where it ended just above his nape. When had it been cut? Bemusedly he moved his head, marveling at how light and easy it was. He hadn't mind it long before, but he could get used to this. He turned his head to find the red-haired oji-san staring at him, a peculiar expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

The man blinked, pulled back from some contemplation, and grinned, crossing his legs and arms lifting to rest behind his head. "Gave us quite a scare, stupid ape."

He scowled, suddenly thinking of a man in uniform, with cropped black hair and a perpetual smirk on his face.

They were alike, this nii-san and Ken-niichan.

"You've been asleep for quite some time – it's well into the afternoon now." The door had been pushed open, and he blinked at the person who stepped into the room. "Ten-chan?" But he was wrong – he realised it the moment he blurted out the name.

Something changed in the man's face, a difference he didn't understand, but he fumbled to apologise anyway. "Gomen, you just look alot like Ten-chan, so I thought you were him even though Ten-chan has longer hair, but I thought he cut his, and he also wears glasses, which you don't, but you have that one glass thing..." 

"...really?" He only realised he'd been babbling when the man spoke, and he subsided meekly. Again, there was that expression, same as the red-haired onii-san, before this other stranger smiled anew, hefting the wooden tray he held between his hands. "Good timing. I went down to the kitchen for something to eat, for when you'd wake up. You must be hungry – you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday. It's only porridge unfortunately; solid food will have to wait until your stomach wound is better."

Stomach wound? Aa, that's right – he brushed the bandages around his abdomen. Then that wasn't a dream too. 

"Move over, Gojyo." The red-haired oniisan grunted, half-rising to drag the chair across and make room as the dark-haired oniisan knelt by the bed with the tray. "Here." He stared at the bowl, steaming porridge and sticky syrup. It did look good, but...

"Um, I'm not really hungry right now." He raised his head to smile at the two men, only to blink in bewilderment. He would have laughed if he had been sure it wouldn't hurt so much. Why did the red-haired oniisan have that strange, stunned expression on his face?

"Are you sure?" Worry now, in the other onii-san's tone. One hand lifted to rest against his forehead. "Do you feel alright? Still tired? Dizzy?" He frowned. What did that have to do with not being hungry?

"If he doesn't want to eat, leave him be. God knows it's an improvement."

Another voice. Someone else in the room. He angled his head to look around the two onii-sans by the bed....

His breath caught as a grin began to break over his face, the relief and delight bubbling over. "Konzen!" But he knew then, the way he had with the onii-san called Hakkai. He was not Ten-chan. And the man sitting on the windowsill was not Konzen.

Not Konzen, but still... he stared and marveled. Almost like him, so much so that he nearly doubted again. Hair the colour of the light streaming through the window, though nowhere as long as Konzen's.  The brightness obscured his features at first. It helped when the man moved, folding the paper he had been reading before he stood.

He was too far away, but he was sure, uncannily so, that behind the thin-framed spectacles the man wore, his eyes were violet.

Konzen. How could it not be? But different... different, he knew. Like the other onii-sans, not Ten-chan or Ken-niichan. 

Not Konzen.

***

Sanzo paused in removing his reading glasses. Those large, golden eyes had been staring at him since he'd first spoken, but now something fell in the boy's expression. Putting the spectacles away, he watched as Goku dropped his head to stare at his hands; discouragement, disappointment. 

Baka.

"Finally awake; you can tell us what happened."

"Haa?" Goku lifted surprised eyes. "What do you mean?"

At the foot of the bed Gojyo snorted. "We were duking it out with the youkai last night when you snapped." He jerked his head, and Goku reached up to touch the metal band wrapped around his own. "Not all the way, but almost."

"Youkai?" In the palace? Goku looked around, seeing the room with new eyes. But this wasn't part of the palace, was it? At least, not any place that he'd been before.

Not the palace, not Ten-chan, or Ken-niichan. Not Konzen...

"Here... where is here?" There was sudden, frantic intensity in his voice, and their bemused expressions triggered something in his chest.

where not the palace what happened why who are you Ten-chan I hate this I want to go Ken-niichan go back go home Konzen Konzen I want to go home. 

"Who?"

Had he said it all out loud? His hands were shaking – he didn't realise how agitated he'd grown. The man by the window had not moved. "Har?"

"Konzen – who is he?" Goku almost flinched at the question, he didn't understand why. "My – he takes care of me."

"Takes care of you?"

"My – guardian."

A short silence. "Friend?"

Goku's hands fisted in the blankets at Hakkai's gentle question. "He – Konzen – " He swallowed over the tightness in his throat, willing the betraying sting of wetness in his eyes to go away. Why was this so hard? 

_bad grief, bad hurt, something lost, something precious, beloved, *beloved*..._

"Konzen – " he blurted out hastily, saying anything, shying away from, from…

"Konzen..." The sheets twisted tighter in his grip. "He is... 

...he is the most important person to me."

A sudden, almost painful stillness in the room. A bare moment, but long enough, too long, before they moved together, Gojyo to sit up properly in his chair, Hakkai to settle the tray with the untouched porridge on the table, and Sanzo drawing nearer to the bed.

"From the beginning." The monk leaned against the table.

This should be interesting.

***

"How could this have happened? Is it allowed?"

"Even we have no hand in chance. Destiny is a fickle creature, Jiroushin, more so for these four."

"Are you going to leave things as they are, then?" 

 "The game is starting to look interesting. Let's see what hand destiny plays."

"Excuses do not solve your messes."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Bosatsu-sama."


End file.
